


Day 11

by rhysgore



Series: Kinktober 2016 [8]
Category: Borderlands
Genre: (sort of), Body Modification, Kinktober, Knifeplay, M/M, Sadism, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-23 01:47:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysgore/pseuds/rhysgore
Summary: It’s so… intimate, he thinks, having the man inside him like this, touching him in a way no one else has before.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for day 11 of kinktober: sadism/masochism. missed these boys. also im trying to catch up im sorry

“Are you paying attention?” Jack asks him, and Rhys has to blink once, twice, three times before he can swallow down a big mouthful of saliva and answer the question.

 

“Y-yeah,” he breathes out, hoping his words are clear enough. He nearly bit through his tongue earlier, and it’s swollen and bleeding now, making his voice come out thickly.

 

His arm lies on a nearby table, stretched out, the underside of it facing towards the ceiling. A thick rectangle of his skin has been cut off, peeled to the side, and Jack’s digging in the muscle underneath with a pair of tweezers and a small dentist’s mirror. He isn’t bleeding- Jack was careful to cauterize any cut veins and arteries, and god, he could feel it. Feel the scalpel as it dug in, rending his body apart. Feel every touch of the solder on his skin, leaving black marks in his flesh.

 

Jack smacks the side of his face a few times. It feels like a caress. “Uh-uh. No you’re not.  _ Focus, _ kiddo.”

 

Looking up at him, Rhys gives a lopsided grin, which earns him the twisting of a thick strand of muscle. He gasps, and drool drips out of his mouth onto his shirt, already stained with spit and blood and bile, but he keeps staring, staring like he’s found a god. This isn’t the first time they’ve done this- not the first occasion Jack has cut him, marked him in this way- but every time it excites him.

 

It excites him to watch his fingers and wrist twitch outside of his own volition, as Jack pulls the muscles like the threads of a puppet. It’s so… intimate, he thinks, having the man inside him like this, touching him in a way no one else has before. It excites Jack too- he can tell by the heavy-lidded gaze as Jack explains to him how he learned which of the pink, ropy bits of tissue control which parts of the human body.

 

“What did I just say?” Jack asks him suddenly. Pop quiz. A quiz that Rhys can’t do anything but fail- he wasn’t paying nearly close enough attention to the complex medical terminology, the technical, scientific names of the things that make him tick. Even if he had been, he’s barely lucid now, pain and arousal sending a distracting cocktail of chemicals flooding through him so that everything he hears he immediately forgets, focusing only on the throbbing of his open wound and the musical cadences of Jack’s voice. It  _ is  _ honestly like music whenever he speaks- a church choir, praising the man Rhys has seen fit to deify.

 

He opens and closes his mouth, drools on himself more before he manages to say anything.

 

“I love you,” he tries.

  
It doesn’t work. It never does. But Rhys can at least relish the pleased twinkle in Jack’s eye as he digs the scalpel deeper.


End file.
